


Country of the Crepescule: Local Boy

by Dryad



Series: Country of the Crepescule [1]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: Gen, M/S-something, Seasick, deep thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-02
Updated: 2012-10-02
Packaged: 2017-11-15 11:23:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/526757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dryad/pseuds/Dryad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Can you ever really go home again?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Alas, alack, they are not mine. Yadda, yadda, yadda.

~*~

 

X-Files Office  
November

"What are you doing this weekend, Mulder?" Scully asked,   
bemusedly watching her partner struggle with the bottom left hand   
drawer of his desk. She folded her arms and leaned against the   
nearest filing cabinet.

He frowned and glared at the drawer. After a moment he rattled   
the handle experimentally, then quickly jerked it back and forth. He   
sat back in his chair with a huff of frustration. "I'm going home."

Scully raised an eyebrow.

"The Vineyard," he amended. "There's some legal stuff I need to   
take care of."

"Your lawyer can't fax it over?"

He shrugged. "It's something I'd rather do there."

"When do you leave?"

Mulder fiddled with his watch. "Tomorrow morning."

"Want company?" She wanted to bite the words back as soon as   
they left her mouth at his expression of pleased surprise. There   
were specific reasons why she resisted impulsive thought around   
Mulder. Too bad she couldn't quite remember what any of them were.

"I thought you were going to your mom's?"

"She cancelled," Lame, lame, lame. "A friend showed up   
unexpectedly." 

The corners of his mouth quirked. "Really? Are you sure? No   
laundry to do, boyfriends to find?"

"Nope."

"Okay. Meet me at my place at seven."


	2. Chapter 2

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

"You want to begin again  
Pretend you're innocent  
If you believe  
You can convince yourself, I'm sure  
You can convince yourself

This town never gave you much back  
Just rumours and a whispering attack  
This town is not your friend  
Never mind the loose ends"

Morphine/Take Me With You/The Night

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The flight to Boston was short and turbulent. It was a good   
thing Mulder had planned on driving to Cape Cod, because both CapeAir   
and USAirways were fully booked for the day. Finding a way out of   
the 'new and improved' Logan Airport arteries proved that Mulder   
could best any sailor in turning the air blue. Scully was impressed. 

It was still Crane Season in Beantown, the Big Dig continuing   
into its umpteenth year, another billion spent to route the city's   
traffic underground. No doubt the city, which felt more like a big   
town than a lively metropolis, would be much the better for it. 

The drive to the Cape took over two hours, post lunchtime   
traffic combined with the threat of an oncoming Nor'easter and single   
lanes slowing everyone to a snail's pace.

Scully was ecstatic at the brief glimpses of the Atlantic she   
was able to catch as they drove over the bridge and onto the Cape   
itself. Forty minutes later they entered Hyannis, a town geared   
towards the tourist market. Strip malls littered its outskirts,   
while boutiques lined the inner streets. Surprisingly enough,   
evidence of poverty and tenement housing was prolific amidst the   
equally apparent upper and middle class wealth. 

Mulder turned down a nondescript two lane road shadowed by   
derelict trawlers on the left and ugly motels and condos on the   
right. He parked in a large lot behind the Super 8 conveniently   
across the tiny ferry terminal. 

Twenty minutes outside the harbor, having caught the last ferry   
for the day, Scully found herself lost in the pleasure of being at   
sea once more. Three in the afternoon and dark was falling, skies of   
cotton and ash darkening perceptibly to graphite. On deck the wind   
whipped her hair into her face and supercooled her spume spattered   
cheeks as she swayed with the ship's roll, balancing lightly on the   
soles of her feet. The ride was glorious, nature herself reminding   
humanity of its place in the world. 

The houses lining the harbor were, the farther one went from   
the terminal, bigger and more ornate. Glimpses of several   
architecturally designed three storey mansions could be seen through   
the bare branches of the forest surrounding them.

Eventually it occurred to her that Mulder had been in the   
toilet for an awfully long time. With a silent curse at her own   
stupidity, she went belowdecks and loitered by the snack bar to warm   
up. She bought a cup of coffee and a ginger ale, sat down and waited   
for Mulder to reappear.

She was adrift in memory when Mulder slid across the wooden   
seat across from her. He accepted the soda without comment.

"You should have reminded me," she said.

He wiped a sudden burst of perspiration from his brow, looked   
out of the scratched plastic window. "I thought you'd enjoy it."

The proverbial lightbulb clicked on in her mind. "You canceled   
your ticket, didn't you?"

Guilt flitted across his face. 

"Damnit Mulder - flying would have taken what, all of fifteen   
minutes?"

"Yeah, but I'm not sure I could've survived your death grip."

"I do not have a death grip."

"Besides," he continued, bonelessly slumped against the   
bulkhead. "We always took the ferry when I was a kid."

"We're flying back, all right?" Scully pursed her lips. She   
didn't like the way he looked, pale and sweaty and miserable, but it   
was his own stubborn fault. Sometimes she wondered if that was part   
of the attraction, his stubborness and her desire to make him concede   
it.

The ship juddered, corkscrewing into a trough. Low moans   
sounded throughout the ship as the wind found places to slip into.   
The waves were becoming increasingly rough, and even she began to   
feel the first pangs of nausea as the ship rose and fell. 

"Scully?"

"Hmm?" She came out of her reverie with a shake of her head.   
"What?"

"You looked about a million miles away."

She twitched one shoulder and finished her coffee.

Mulder toyed with his sodacap. "Tourist season was the best and   
worst time to be on the Vineyard. So many strangers, Scully. Pretty   
girls in miniskirts and halter tops, eating vanilla and chocolate   
creamee's, hot flippers dusted with powdered sugar, feeding seagulls   
popcorn," he paused for a moment. "But it was better when they went   
away. Mom would bring us to the beach, and we'd have cold roast   
chicken and warm German potato salad for lunch. If we were lucky she   
brought thermoses of corn or clam chowder, the good stuff, not that   
Manhattan crap," he fell silent and resumed staring out the window.

She wanted to know more, but refused to ask. Funny, how they   
could save one another's lives yet feel constrained when it came to   
the personal. How much more personal could you get, covering   
someone's back? 

Scully didn’t particularly care for Martha’s Vineyard. There   
was an air of superiority, a ‘more precious than thou’ atmosphere.   
Maybe it came from the casual aura of wealth exuding from the yachts   
in the harbors and the seasonal nature of so many of the island’s   
inhabitants. It was the kind of place that always made her wonder   
where the poor people lived. 

Oh, it was pretty enough, rolling hills topped with scrub and   
low trees, wide sweet meadows and flats laden with golden green sea   
grass and cattails. The towns were all very colonial, but not in the   
grand style of the Carolina's and Virginia, more in terms of the idea   
of colonialism and New England’s Puritan past than any recognition of   
its current reality. She much preferred Nantucket, where evidence of   
the common man abounded.

The ferry docked in Oak Bluffs, where they were to pick up a   
rental car and drive the few miles to West Tisbury. Oak Bluffs was   
the essence of a town once dependent on the sea for its living, in   
fact it looked like something out that old Robin Williams movie   
musical, Popeye. But now tourism was its mainstay. Many storied   
houses littered the bluffs while smaller painted lady cottages were   
tucked away here and there. Surprisingly there was nary a Widow's   
Walk in sight, which she thought were a staple of the New England   
coastline. 

The islands were tiny, far enough away from the mainland to   
make it another world entirely. Samantha Mulder must have been the   
talk of the Vineyard for weeks and months, if not years. Small   
wonder Mrs. Mulder had moved to the mainland. She said the words   
before the thought occurred she shouldn't. "Were you happy here?"

Mulder glanced at her, smiled wanly. 

Scully was sorry she'd brought the topic up as they entered   
West Tisbury, population 1500. Minutes later he parked in front of a   
two storey house. 

"Here we are."

Bill Mulder's home was large and unsuitable for a single man.   
It was imposing in a House of the Seven Gables kind of way, dormer   
windows jutting out from the full attic, white clapboards and black   
shutters, black railings, the gunship gray paint on the floorboards   
of the porch just beginning to peel, all surrounded by plenty of   
manicured lawn and shrubbery. Inside, Scully wasn't sure what she   
had expected, but the revelation of his father's fondness for   
comfortable leather furniture and old collectibles made some of   
Mulder's predilections all the more understandable. He brought her   
to one of the guest bedrooms, where she stowed her things before   
taking another turn around the house. 

Mulder joined her in the living room. "I was thinking we could   
catch a bite at Beckett's."

Beckett's turned out to be a café bookstore just off of Main   
Street. It was comfy, filled with soft, raggedy couches and coffee   
stained armchairs, tables to eat at, and a couple of strawberry   
iMac's against one wall. Beckett's sold new and used books, and   
heaps of politically incorrect paraphernalia. Scully particularly   
liked the D.A.R.E. To Think For Yourself bumpersticker and the CIA   
Reveals JFK Shot Himself tee. The cd's for sale leaned heavily   
towards long-haired women with acoustic guitars. Thankfully the café   
catered to carnivores as well as vegetarians, and she was hungry   
enough to order a chicken burger and fries. 

Mulder gave her a funny look. 

"I do occasionally indulge, Mulder."

Later, he stole the discarded bread-and-butter pickles from her   
plate. "What about you, Scully? Have you ever imagined yourself on   
an island?"

Scully shrugged. "Who doesn't?"

"Not a desert island, someplace like this, maybe?"

"Not like the Vineyard, no. Nantucket's more my style."

"That tourist trap? Who'da thunk it," He shook his head. "I   
didn't realize you had a style."

"We moved around so much when I was young, I guess I've always   
been a little nostalgic to be claimed by someplace."

"It's not all it's cracked up to be."

But she had never experienced it, and so couldn't counter his   
argument. Envy was a familiar flavor in her mouth, albeit one she   
hadn't tasted in years. After high school the ability to pack and   
move at a moment's notice had been a blessing, yet every now and then   
there was the niggling doubt that maybe it wasn't such a good thing,   
maybe the ability to attach oneself to a place provided stability and   
a sense of belonging. After a few silent moments she said, "I'm   
going to take a look around."

"Good idea," he said, grabbing the slip of paper the waiter had   
left on the table. "I've been dying to take a look at the sci-fi   
section, see if any of my old books are still here."

What was it about small towns? Either they belonged in every   
joke ever made about the movie Deliverance or they were havens of   
sanity and free thinking. Beckett's children's stacks were a   
multiculturalist's paradise, and the American Politics section   
extraordinary in its diversity of opinion. Par for the course, she   
supposed, given the multiplicity of presidents who chose to vacation   
on the island. Two more stacks devoted to foreign culture and   
politics, biography and travel, plus a smaller, odder section of   
cookbooks and ecology. Wandering the fiction aisle, she picked out   
Allende's Daughter of Fortune, and found Eucalyptus, which her mother   
had been recommending for months. To her right Mulder had hunkered   
down and was deeply involved in the search for something readable.   
She peered over his shoulder. "Isn't that cheating?"

"What, haven't you ever read the end of a book to see if it's   
worth buying?"

"No, of course not."

He stood, paperback clenched in his hand, gazing down at her   
with a fond, amused glint in his eye. "C'mon, never?"

"Fox? Fox Mulder?"

The speaker was behind Scully, but judging by the chagrined   
look on Mulder's face he was half-pleased, half-embarrassed to be   
recognized. 

"Oh my god, it is you!"

"Pam, nice to see you again. Pam Jones," Mulder nodded towards   
Scully. "This is Dana Scully."

"Pam Cavendish now, Fox. Oh my god, I can't believe it's you!"   
Pam squealed. "My god, how've you been? I heard a rumour that you'd   
become a UFO nut, and another that you'd joined the NSA! I didn't   
believe'em, of course, I knew you better than that."

No hello's for her, then. Mulder's women, good grief, did he   
make everyone territorial? Scully blinked. She'd have to include   
herself on that one. And she hadn't even slept with him. Pam   
flipped her long, feathered brown hair over her shoulders and Scully   
fought the urge to grin. The hair combined with the blue and pink   
floral jumper, longjohns and white turtleneck just wasn't flirtation   
material. Mulder, on the other hand, dressed all in black, was sex   
on two legs. Sometimes she wasn't sure he was all aware of the   
effect he had on women, or at least on her, and then at other times,   
well, he never let good innuendo go unused.

"Oh my god, you are coming to the Ball, right? You have to   
come, Amanda and Chris and everybody would just love to see you   
again."

"We hadn't planned on staying that long," Mulder said, putting   
one hand on Scully's back.

"Fox, it's tonight – god, have you already forgotten? They say   
you can take the boy from the island, but not the island from the   
boy, but maybe they were wrong in your case!"

Scully glanced at Mulder. He wasn't noticeably wincing, but   
his eyes were definitely screaming. 

"Pam?" a man called.

"Andy," she yelled over her shoulder. "Look who I found!"

Andy turned out to be a stocky man the same height as Mulder,   
but with the marks of age far more visible in the laughlines around   
his face, his salt and pepper hair. He didn't offer to shake hands.   
"Fox," he said, nodding at Scully a beat later. "Hi."

"How's it going, Andy?" Mulder asked.

"Fine, fine."

"Fox is coming to the Ball tonight," Pam said. "aren't you?"

Scully raised an eyebrow at Mulder's expression. He didn't   
want to go, yet in his gaze she could see the temptation to see other   
people he knew, perhaps to indulge in memory of a different time.   
Personally speaking, she wanted to experience another side of Mulder.   
She pushed her luck and murmured, "Might be fun."

He gave her a look she couldn't interpret, then nodded. "All   
right, we'll go."

"Great!" Pam squealed. "We'll see you at the Meeting Hall."

Scully watched Pam flounce away, Andy following close behind.   
She felt like apologizing, although for what she wasn't quite sure. 

After paying for their books and the meal, they returned to the   
house. Mulder made himself scarce, presumably at his lawyer's, and   
Scully decided there was nothing wrong with bathing for a second time   
in a single day. The bathroom had a lot to be desired, although the   
basics were available. Unfortunately there were no bubblebath   
materials, not even a drop of bath oil to soothe the skin. Faint   
memories of an afternoon spent flipping through some of Missy's more   
down to earth books brought Scully down to the kitchen in her   
bathrobe. Searching through the shelves she soon found the required   
items and spirited them back upstairs before Mulder caught her in the   
act.

While the water ran she poured a handful of rolled oats, Quaker   
brand, appropriately enough, into the center of a cheap cotton   
handkerchief, added a few drops of food grade almond extract, a   
couple of cloves, and half a cinnamon stick. Sure, she might smell   
like a cookie, but it was better than smelling of island water.   
Drawing the corners up, she made a knot and tossed it into the tub.   
Perfecto. She stripped and climbed in, leaned back and closed her   
eyes. Now she could relax.

"You alive in there?"

Scully surged up, startled out of her doze by Mulder's sharp   
rapping on the door. She swallowed back the adrenaline rush and   
shook the water out of her eyes. "Yeah, yeah. What time is it?"

"Seven thirty. If we show up in the next hour there'll   
probably still be some pie left."

"You and your pie fixation," she muttered. 

"Scully?"

"I'll be done in few minutes, Mulder."

"Okay."

When his footsteps had faded, Scully hauled herself out of the   
lukewarm water and hastily dried herself, hopping out of the water   
she's splashed on the floor. God, she'd forgotten what old houses in   
New England were like in winter. Cold, draughty, creaky, and   
generally uncarpeted. There was a lot to be said for carpeting, or   
at least wool lined slippers. Jesus, what had she been thinking?   
The Vineyard in November with a Nor'easter crawling up the coast and   
she hadn't brought slippers. Idiot. 

Back in the bedroom she realized she hadn't brought anything   
vaguely partylike to wear. Black would have to make up for the lack   
of anything fancier. Experience had taught her to always bring   
professional looking clothes on non-work related jaunts – just in   
case. She quickly drew on trousers and a vee-cut, long-sleeved pearl   
button cardigan, retouched her makeup, then went downstairs only to   
find Mulder pacing to and fro in the hallway. "I hope this isn't   
fancy dress."

He looked her over, smiled ever so slightly. "You look fine,   
Scully."


	3. Chapter 3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"You want to burn your bridges  
I'll help you start the fire  
You want to disappear  
I've got the manual right here"

Morphine/Take Me With You/The Night

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Meeting Hall proved to be precisely that, a large building   
with long wooden tables and benches in one half of the single room,   
an open space where people could dance, and a raised stage at the   
very back where the band was playing. Tables of food and drink were   
pushed against one wall. The hall was decorated with more jack-o-  
lanterns than Scully had ever seen, including garlands of plastic   
pumpkin, corncob, and turkey lights of the kind commonly found at   
Wal-Mart. The rustic feel was strengthened with sweet-smelling hay   
bales for additional seating, plus cut-outs of pilgrims and even an   
honest-to-god Drugstore Indian in one corner. 

Thankfully just about everyone else was dressed as casually as   
herself. Children ran about with either irritating or charmingly   
free abandon, depending on one's mood. Over the noise she said,   
"This isn't quite what I was expecting, Mulder."

He placed one hand on her back and steered her towards the   
food. "Pretty down market for a high falutin' island, hunh?"

Scully snorted. "This is an attempt to be like the little   
people?"

"Oh yeah."

She'd never really thought about the class system on the   
Vineyard. She had learned that heaps of wealth didn't necessarily   
equal taste or good manners, indeed, it money seemed to encourage the   
opposite. Mulder was a gentleman in an age of impoliteness. Yet at   
the same time he was so down to earth, she often forgot his   
upbringing and background apart from Samantha. His parents had been   
moderately wealthy in their day, before ordinary folk had been priced   
off the island. She didn't know why she'd never asked him about it.   
She pursed her lips and shook her head minutely. It was just another   
one of those things they didn't speak of.

Mulder handed her a Dixie cup of cider and a paper plate topped   
with chocolate chocolate chunk cookies, turned to get his own cup,   
and was promptly and literally pulled away by a gaggle of women. He   
mouthed a 'sorry' over his shoulder. Scully didn't mind in the   
least. In fact she felt rather proud of herself for getting him to   
come in the first place. Okay, she might be just a little   
hypocritical there – she hated being ambushed by the past as much as   
he did. On the other hand, she wasn't the focus of their attention.

The cider and cookies accompanied Scully as she wandered around   
the Hall, looking at the pictures lining the walls. There were lots   
of photos of schooners and yachts, tall ships in full regalia,   
sailors holystoning wooden decks, the usual panoply of ship life.   
There was a painting of a Nantucket Sleighride, the boat's white   
wakewater streaked with crimson, the faces of the men filled with   
terrified glee as the whale pulled them further from their ship. She   
stopped beneath a huge knitted hanging rug of the Pequod before her   
fateful final meeting with Moby Dick. Framed diagrams of whales and   
the old instruments of their annihilation surrounded the rug, along   
with yellowing scrimshaw and a few dilapidated pieces of baleen.

She moved on to the next exhibit, barely managing to avoid   
being run over by a herd of six year-olds on the rampage. Ah, of   
course, Jaws. A young Steven Spielberg wore an unaged grin, one arm   
slung around Roy Scheider's shoulders as they both stood in front of   
a huge shark hanging from a hook on a dock. More pictures,   
presumably of locals, of the film set, of the long lines during the   
premiere in some unnamed town, the infamous poster, signed by the   
cast.

Scully finished the last cookie and tossed the plate into a   
nearby trashcan, bumped into someone as she turned around. "Oops,   
sorry."

"No problem. I'm Jack Millhouse," the heavy man said. "You   
came here with Fox, didn't you?"

Scully nodded politely and took a step back. With luck she   
would escape the worst of his alcohol laced breath.

He chuckled and sipped whatever was in his cup. "News travels   
fast in a small town. Vanessa Hollander phoned my wife from the   
ticket office in Hyannis just to tell her Chilmark's most famous son   
was coming home."

Good grief. Next time someone invited them to a party she'd   
keep her trap shut. 

"Have you two been married long?"

Scully blinked. "We're not married."

"Ah, didn't think so, he's not – " he was interrupted as a   
woman who looked remarkably like Mulder's mother came up and grabbed   
him above the elbow. "Betsy, this is – I'm sorry, I didn't catch your   
name?"

"Scully. Dana Scully."

Mrs. Millhouse's smile didn't reach her brown eyes. "Of course.   
We've heard so much about you over the years."

"You've heard my name before?"

"Bill Mulder and I were close friends. I was very surprised   
when I read he had passed on."

Scully pasted a polite look on her face despite her distaste   
for these two people. In spite of her experiences, she had never   
gotten used to the kinds of people who could read about the death of   
a 'close friend' in the newspaper, nevermind when he was murdered,   
and treat it as though it were an ordinary event. She glanced at the   
darker depths of the room, hoping for a glimpse of Mulder.

"Teena's rather fond of you."

Fond? In what universe? 

"Is he going to sell the house?" Jack asked. "He'd get at least   
a million. Boy's a fool not to sell. Hell, Bill was a fool not   
to sell. Hard to believe there was a time when you couldn't give   
away a tar paper shack in this town, and now you can't buy one for   
love nor money."

"Jack, you know that's not true," Mrs. Millhouse scoffed.   
"That house, both of them, actually, are good long term investments.   
Fox is absolutely right to rent them out."

Scully was on the verge of making up an excuse to leave when   
she noticed Andy approaching. His changing from jeans, turtleneck,   
and plaid shirt to jeans, kermit green sweater and brown sports   
jacket did not make a noticeable dent in her initial impression of   
him having been a linebacker. Rescue me, rescue me, she silently   
chanted.

He nodded a greeting at the Millhouses. "Hope you don't mind,   
I've come to steal her away. Pam wants to interrogate her about   
Fox."

"Oh, well, it was nice to meet you," Mrs. Millhouse said. "Tell   
Fox to give us a call before you both leave."

From the frying pan into the fire? Scully pursed her lips and   
followed in Andy's wake. 

"Sorry about that."

"Don't worry about it."

"The Millhouses aren't my favorite people in the world either,"   
He slowed, eyed her. "How long have you and Fox known each other?" 

"Six years."

"Yeah? Long time. I'm surprised he brought you here."

A reply didn't seem to be needed, so she kept quiet. Andy led   
her to the foyer, where Mulder was holding court. He'd certainly   
turned the charm on, judging by his half-lidded gaze and lazy smile.   
Scully rolled her eyes. He was going to be insufferable for the rest   
of the evening now that he'd gotten his attention fix.

"Ladies, I've brought his better half," Andy said, motioning   
her to join the group and then leaving her to her fate by backing   
away.

A statement which didn't go over well, considering the measured   
looks she received. Mulder, of course, was quietly amused. 

"Fox, when are you moving back to the Vineyard?" asked a skinny   
blonde woman.

"Not anytime soon," he replied.

Translation: unlikely in the extreme. Scully wondered if   
anyone else heard the sarcasm present in his tone. She doubted it.   
Of course, the future was something else they never discussed unless   
it related to conspiracy and colonization.

Pam, who'd changed into an evergreen corduroy jumper and a   
powder blue turtleneck, sneered in the form of a smile and said, "I'm   
sorry, I've forgotten your name?"

Sure she had. "Dana Scully."

"Right, Dana," Pam gestured towards the other women. "This is   
Hannah, Jill, Sue, Bonnie, and Amanda." 

The blonde, whose name Scully had already forgotten, said, "So   
how do you two know each other?"

Scully jumped in before Mulder had a chance to speak. "We're   
partners."

His eyes widened almost imperceptibly.

A soft chorus of disappointment ran through his loyal   
followers. 

"Fox tells us he works for the Government," asked a hawk nosed   
woman with mousy brown hair and unnaturally tanned skin. "What do you   
do?"

Ah, so she wasn't the only one to prevaricate this evening.   
"I'm a doctor." 

"I am too!" cried a blunt featured woman who wore coke bottle   
glasses. "My specialty's in Opthamology. You?"

"Forensic Pathology," Scully said, mentally wincing at the   
woman's ironic choice of field.

"Oh. That's. . .different."

"Come on, Hannah, no more doctor talk," said the blonde. "We've   
heard it all a million times before anyway. And besides, now that   
we've got Fox here I want to know all about his sister. Did you ever   
find her, or at least find out what happened to her?"

Mulder rocked back on his heels, the naked bulb overhead   
highlighting the faint yellow bruise under his left eye. 

"I heard that vacuum salesman did it, what was his name,   
Rochester?" asked Hannah, nodding enquiringly at Pam.

"Roche," Mulder said, scrutinizing the depths of his Dixie cup.   
"His name was John Lee Roche."

"Oh, that's right," said the blonde. "Didn't you have something   
to do with him? I remember watching Liz Earle interview someone from   
the FBI on WBZ – was that you?"

"Right, I remember now!" Hannah pushed her glasses further up   
her nose. "Some girl got kidnapped and you rescued her, didn't you?   
Wasn't that you?"

"What about Samantha? Did you ever find her? Didn't you have   
something to do with him?" interrupted the mouse.

The blonde's eyebrows shot to her hairline. "Hello, am I   
invisible here? Didn't I just say that?"

"Shut up, Jill. Fox?"

"We haven't found Sam yet," Mulder said.

"Oh, that's too bad. She was a good kid."

"You knew Samantha?" asked Scully, raking the woman up and   
down. "I didn't realize you were the same age."

The mouse glared back at her. "We lived on the same street. My   
brother used to babysit us."

"God, is that what he called it?" Pam said with a knowing grin.   
"I seem to recall him spending a lot of time with Debbie Wiltse on   
his child watching forays."

Mulder perked up. "Oh hey, whatever happened to her?"

"She got pregnant at the end of senior year, gave birth to a   
black baby, can you imagine? Her parents were horrified," said the   
mouse.

"Wouldn't you be?" the blonde – Jill - dryly replied. Hannah   
tittered behind her hand. 

"I saw Fox in her company plenty of times," Pam cast a sly look   
at Scully before returning her attention to Mulder. "Did she   
'babysit' for you, too?"

"Debbie used to be on the track team," Mulder explained to   
Scully. "Is she still on the island?"

The mouse shook her head. "God no. Her parents hustled her off   
to the mainland as soon as she started to show. Davey Eckland saw   
her in P-town last summer, said she was doing really well designing   
fashion clubbing gear for the gay season. She owns some little hole   
in the wall on Commercial Street."

"Y'know it's too bad about Caroline, she would've loved to have   
seen you," Pam said to Mulder. "She's still convinced you love her."

Mulder grimaced. 

"I think she's delusional," Jill nodded emphatically. "I   
mean, it's so obvious he loves me, and only me. Isn't that right,   
Fox?"

"Oh, oh yeah. It's always been you," he deadpanned.

"See? Told you," Jill blew a raspberry at the mouse. "Nyah."

A lull fell in the conversation, enough for Scully to hear the   
band play the opening bars of String of Pearls above the murmur of   
the crowd. "Come on, Mulder. Let's dance."

He nodded. "See you all later."

Scully was pleased to feel his hand resting on its familiar   
spot on her lower back. Maybe that would give those bitches   
something to talk about other than Samantha and people who had no   
chance to defend themselves. God, the nerve of them! And to be so   
blatant about it – and then not to even care what effect they were   
having – or maybe that was the point, to see what reaction they would   
get, have something else to discuss and reinterpret until Mulder was   
nothing more than a rumor, his real existence wiped out by lies   
spread on top of obfuscation.

"You okay, Scully?"

"I'm fine," she said, moving around a grandfather and his two   
young charges. After a moment she glanced up at Mulder. "Those were   
your friends?"

"I'm not sure they would classify as friends. At the time they   
were the people I hung out with, and despite what you just heard,   
they're all pretty brainy, or at least they were when I knew them."

"You seem to attract brainy women."

Mulder stepped in front of her with open arms, eyes bright,   
lips quirked. "I guess so."

Okay, she'd fallen right into that one. She clasped his hand   
and shoulder and wondered how much she could get out of him. Did she   
even have the right? They were both private people, although she had   
told him about Jack without prompting. Maybe she should enquire   
later on, when they both on more familiar territory.

"No," he said.

She looked up with eyebrows raised. "No what?"

"I didn't date any of them."

"Mulder, I didn't ask."

"You didn't have to. You've been dying to know since this   
afternoon."

Scully conceded the point with a self deprecating smile.   
"Sorry. It's just, I've never been here before. I don't know what   
to expect."

He shrugged. "Me neither. It's pretty weird. I haven't been   
to one of these balls since I graduated high school."

"I thought you moved to Greenwich after the divorce?"

"Oh, I did. That's what they decided, school in Connecticut,   
then I'd summer here with my father. But for whatever reason, we'd   
alternate holidays, so my father would either come to the mainland,   
or we’d come here, which inevitably meant making an appearance at one   
of the balls or during the New Year's dinner."

He sighed and she felt badly for bringing it all up again. How   
strange it must have been compared to everyone else he knew. Of   
course, every family had its rituals that were odd to strangers.   
Hers was no exception. She took a breath and moved the topic to what   
she really wanted to know about. "I bet you were a chick magnet."

"Chick magnet?" Mulder smirked. "Did you just say 'chick'? Say   
it again, Scully, I dare you."

"Chick," she said firmly. "Unless you'd prefer 'babe'?"

The song changed to something else slower and more sultry, and   
she shifted down another couple of notches, no longer offended and   
tense. "So, were you?"

"I don't think so. I mean, I got my fair share of - ," he   
hesitated. "Let me rephrase that. I wasn't popular, exactly, so much   
as appreciated for my skills with sports and homework."

Scully understood only too well. "I still think you were a   
chick magnet. Smart, good-looking, athletic."

"You forgot fucked-up."

"I was trying to be polite," she said, which earned her a   
delightfully toothed grin. She smiled back.


	4. Chapter 4

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Take me with you when you go now  
Don't leave me alone  
I can't live without you  
Take me with you  
Take me with you when you go"

Morphine/Take Me With You/The Night  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Scully liked dancing. More to the point, she liked dancing   
with Mulder. He was graceful and courteous and never gave the   
impression of leading her around the dance floor, although there was   
no question he was leading. A giant metaphor for their whole   
relationship. Yet that wasn't fair to either of them. 

After all, she chose to follow.

"Penny for your thoughts."

"Just woolgathering," she said, reassuring him with a faint   
smile.

He huffed a laugh, nodded. His amusement dropped when glanced   
over her head, "Want to get out of Dodge?"

She was surprised at his abrupt change of mood. "I'm all   
right, unless you'd rather go?"

"Sorry. I don't mean to be – too late," His face underwent a   
subtle transformation, from warily relaxed to G-man At Work.

Turning to see what he was looking at, she caught sight of the   
Millhouses heading their way. "Oh, Mulder, I met them earlier, they   
wanted – "

"Fox," Mrs. Millhouse said. "It's good to see you again."

"Mrs. Millhouse," Mulder leaned forward and kissed her on the   
cheek, shook her husband's free hand. "Mr. Millhouse. How have the   
two of you been?"

"Oh, we’re doing wonderfully well," Jack replied, sloshing   
liquid over his hand as he motioned with his Dixie cup. His wife   
pulled a handkerchief from a hidden pocket and began to wipe it off.   
"Whoops. We've been to Florida, made the annual trip to St. Andrews   
for the tournament. We'll be heading to Munich for the Christmas   
Bazaar in a couple of weeks."

Scully was less than impressed with the litany of travel and   
what she supposed they thought was a cunning mention of a family   
holiday. These people didn't know when to let up. Or did they? She   
was used to this one-upmanship at the Bureau when it was targeted at   
herself, but she hated it when people tried to do the same to Mulder   
in her presence. Unfortunately she didn't know these people,   
couldn't make any biting comment back. And Mulder would be the worse   
off for it if she did.

"What about yourselves?" Mrs. Millhouse asked, looking   
pointedly at Scully.

"Yeah, what are we doing?" Mulder said. "And don't say I never   
take you anywhere."

"I have no idea," She answered in the same light and mocking   
tone, staring right back at him. "I never know where I'll end up when   
you're around." 

"You know, you two just make a lovely couple. It's so good to   
see you with someone again, Fox. After that whole business with   
Caroline," Mrs. Millhouse shook her head. "Such a shame, when she   
went overboard on that trip to the Caribbean."

"It was a long time ago," Mulder said.

"Yes, I think she became a little mentally unhinged afterwards,   
if you know what I mean. A nice girl, but not quite right. She   
never stops talking about you."

"Mm," Jack swallowed the last of his drink, gestured at Mulder.   
"Speaking of Carrie, I know Jacqueline would have loved to see you as   
well. She's based in Zurich these days. Married to a three star   
Michelin chef, three kids and another one on the way."

He patted Scully on the arm. "Take my advice, skip the kids and   
go straight to the grandkids, they're much more fun and you can give   
them back at the end of the day."

"So my mother tells me," Scully answered, amazed at how easily   
she could still be made to feel small despite her age and the things   
she had done, the things she had seen. Spender Senior had nothing on   
these people.

"I'm sure she adores your children, my dear," Mrs. Millhouse   
toyed with her pearls, her smile still not reaching her eyes. "Jack,   
I see Roger and Cynthia – Fox, if you'll just excuse us for a moment,   
there are some people we need to see – "

They walked away, leaving Scully too drained to be pissed off.   
"Mulder, I'm sorry."

He looked down at her curiously. "For what?"

"I shouldn't have pushed you into coming here."

He shrugged. "C'mon, one more dance and then we'll go, okay?" 

Regaining a measure of comfort in his arms, she distracted   
herself by watching the other couples on the dance floor with an   
investigator's eye. A man kept staring at a woman dancing with a   
teenaged boy. Jealousy flared in his face – of the woman or the boy,   
Scully couldn't tell. Over there, closer to the stage, two women   
laughed, one touching the other on the wrist, smiles hiding secrets   
that weren't very. A little girl wriggle-danced to the music by   
herself, solemnly clutching her corn dolly and sucking her thumb. By   
the wall a man picked his teeth, next to him, a group of girls   
giggled and played with their clothing, eyes flashing boldly   
everytime a male of the appropriate age walked by in what passed for   
coyness in this modern age. And here, another couple, so completely   
wrapped up in their own world that Scully found herself envious for   
the same communion of spirit. 

Communion of spirit. Missy would be pleased she recognized it   
when she saw it. Of course, Missy had said that she and Mulder   
already had a deep bond – but Scully wasn't sure her sister had ever   
understood what kind of bond they had had at that stage, the second   
year of their partnership. No, her sister had never understood that   
trusting someone with your life, trusting them to back you up and   
cover you when the shit hit the fan wasn't the same as being in love   
with them. Hell, she hadn't understood the difference herself until   
she'd been assigned to the basement, and then, over time, it had   
become clear.

Funny, she'd thought she had loved Jack and Daniel and Ethan,   
and yet now, looking back, she didn't know why. Oh, they'd all been   
charming in their own way, but now she wondered what they'd seen in   
her. She had been so pliable, so eager to please, subduing her own   
nature in favor of their desires.

"Scully?"

Why had she done that? Mere habit? The result of being a navy   
brat, used to obeying her father when he was home, and disobeying her   
mother when he wasn't? Was it because that's what her mother did, in   
her own way?

"Hey, anybody home?"

Scully blinked, abruptly aware of Mulder's concern and the   
jostling of the crowd as people flowed around them to dance to   
something lively and upbeat. She shook her head with a rueful smile.   
"Sorry. Just having an epiphany."

"A good one, I hope," he said, ushering her away from the   
dancing.

"I was thinking about the men I used to date."

"Oo, I try to avoid thinking about that as much as possible,"   
he quipped.

She looked at him quizzically, unsure of his meaning, unsure if   
she was prepared for his answer if she asked for clarification. 

They gathered their coats in the foyer and stepped out into the   
night.

The crisp scent of new snow was heavy in the cold air, the   
promised Nor'easter almost ready to tip over onto the island. Scully   
matched Mulder's swift pace as they walked back to the house, along   
Main Street, past Beckett's and the Post Office and the volunteer   
firehouse. The road was cracked and raw, and she was glad she'd worn   
her black boots instead of heels. She shivered and tucked her gloved   
hands into the pockets of her coat, wishing she'd also had the   
foresight to bring a hat. The breeze had picked up, driving dead   
leaves skittering along the road, making open mailboxes whistle,   
blowing her hair into her face with maddening frequency. 

Approaching the Mulder driveway, Scully said, "Let's go for a   
walk."

"You sure?"

She nodded. "Yeah, I've warmed up. Besides, I need to work off   
those cookies."

They continued up the gentle hill, the trees creaking in the   
wind, uncurtained windows from houses on either side of the road   
casting just enough light to see by.

"I was thinking about what you asked me earlier," Mulder said.   
"If those women were my friends."

She made an encouraging 'mm' and concentrated on the beauty of   
the night, which was not yet dark and stormy. 

"I don't know if you were anything like me, Scully, but I was   
rather desperate for close friends after Samantha disappeared. It's   
very difficult, being an only child when you've known what it's like   
to have a sibling to count on."

What could she say? She understood the void he spoke of,   
perhaps even more than he realized. "Did you suddenly find yourself   
with a plethora of female friends?"

His eyebrows shot up. "How did you know?"

"It's a chick thing," she murmured. And how. An intelligent,   
attractive boy with a family tragedy – god knows she would have come   
running, too.

"A chick thing, hunh. Well, anyway, I used to hang out with   
Debbie and Caroline and everyone during summer vacation. Dated Pam   
for about a week until I found out she'd hooked up with Andy the   
previous year."

"Ah."

"And that was the end of that. I'm glad they got married, he   
was crazy about her."

"I rarely dated in high school," Scully pondered the wisdom of   
letting him know so much about her, then threw caution to the wind.   
"Partly because we moved around so much, and partly because my   
parents didn't approve, but mostly because they kept putting me into   
all girl Catholic schools."

"But Scully, everyone knows you can't beat a good Catholic   
education."

She punched him lightly in the arm. "Just for that, I'm not   
telling you any more."

"Aw, c'mon, the nuns whip the fun out of ya?"

"Mulder!"

He was immediately contrite, or at least as contrite as he ever   
got outside of a hospital. "You can pick our next case. . ."

Scully stopped and considered. "All right, you're on."

They walked a few more steps, Mulder peering eagerly down at   
her.

"And?"

"And what?"

"You said you rarely dated, which suggests you had at least one   
evening out with a member of the opposite sex."

"That's why they put the I in FBI, Mulder," she said primly.

"Scully..."

She sighed, unable to keep from telling him whatever he wanted   
to know. And why was that? Why did she always give in? Because he   
was her friend? More to the point, who was safest to talk about? "A   
couple of guys, Simon and Paul, in eleventh grade."

"Simon and Paul?"

"One crack about the other disciples and I am so out of here."

He held up one hand in surrender, fighting a grin. 

Taking a deep breath, she began again. "They both went to St.   
Michael's, and we met at a dance – god, this could be the plot for   
Heaven Help Us. There's really not much to tell. Neither of them   
lasted long - " she shook her head at his intense interest,   
embarrassed even though she had yet to tell him anything. " – it was   
quite obvious why they were dating me. And they weren't very   
interesting people."

"Is that it?"

"Isn't that enough?" It wasn't in her anymore to spill her   
secrets. She'd been cured once and for all after Ethan, after Billy   
Miles and a light in a forest, after Mulder had stumbled towards her   
through guarded gates with bewildered eyes and a befuddled   
expression. Her life was filled with closed boxes, all of them   
labeled Pandora.

At the top of the hill she stopped and viewed the scene below,   
brushing hair out of her eyes. In the distance porchlights shone   
through bare branches like tiny Christmas lights, decorated with the   
flickering popcorn-and-cranberry corona of cars on the road, heading   
wherever home was on this November night. The wind carried the faint   
sounds of traffic through the trees.

Speaking of which, her mother wanted her home for the holidays.   
Home, such an odd word. Home was family and possessions, being a   
part of a societal structure she wasn't sure existed for herself any   
longer. At one time she'd wanted the word and all of the meanings it   
held in its single syllable more than anything in the world. She'd   
grown up since then. Had reinvented herself after high school, again   
after medical school, at Quantico had started down the path to   
becoming the woman she'd always wanted to be, in the basement became   
someone else entirely. 

Most days she was sure the price had been worth paying.

"Hey Scully, I found the old path," Mulder called, playing a   
mini Maglite at the edge of the road. "We can go back this way."

Although the hill was bald, the scrub brush was almost waist   
high and pulled at her coat and pants. The ground was the   
consistency of sherbet underfoot, a kind of hard softness, sandy   
loam shifting with each step she took. Soon enough they entered the   
forest, the trees mere teenagers compared their mainland cousins,   
pasture succession having almost completely transformed the former   
farmland.

"How well do you know this trail, Mulder?" Scully asked. 

"I used to run up here once, sometimes twice a day. Why do you   
ask?"

"Forests and I just don't get along," she grumbled, pushing   
thin branches away from her face.


	5. Chapter 5

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I don't care about   
the things I leave at home  
'Cause things can't really keep you company  
When you're alone

You say you want my help  
I can't help myself  
You want my help  
I can't help myself"

Morphine/Take Me With You/The Night

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

"So tell me about Caroline," Scully said, immediately wishing   
she'd made it a request rather than a demand.

Mulder took a few more steps, then stopped and turned around.   
He flicked the flashlight up to see her face. "Why do you want to   
know?"

"Um, just curious. Besides, you grilled me on my old   
boyfriends."

"I knew there were more than two."

"Turnabout's fair play, Mulder," she made shooing motions and   
he obediently began down the trail again.

"She had a thing for me in third grade. Are you jealous?"

"Oh, please."

He continued on a few minutes later, having navigated around   
and ultimately through the branches of a tree which had fallen across   
the trail. "She was nice. In retrospect it's clear she wanted to be   
more than friends, but I was oblivious. She was, ah, on the skimpy   
side."

"Skimpy?"

"Hormones, Scully, hormones. Mine were not interested in   
anyone who couldn't sufficiently fill a bra."

Ouch. She wasn't touching that one with a ten foot pole.   
Hell, a sixty foot pole. She thanked God he wasn't one of those men   
who felt the need to apologize for the unintentional suggestion that   
she didn't sufficiently fill a bra. Okay, maybe there had been days   
in the past when she wished she looked different, nonetheless, now   
she was quite happy with what she had. Everything else was icing on   
the cake of being alive.

"Of course things have changed since then."

Ah.

"When I was sixteen I was invited to sail to the Caribbean with   
her family. We got caught up in a storm off Cape Hatteras. I   
watched her get swept overboard, Scully."

"Jesus – "

"While I clutched the mast, cowering in fear, she was tossed   
back onto the deck with the next wave. I reached out and grabbed her   
wrist as she slid by. She managed to get on her knees and attach   
herself to the mast as well."

"Mulder, that's amazing!" 

"Yeah, well. She was different afterwards, we both were."

She wondered if this incident was the cause of his seasickness.   
Normally she'd never consider such an idea, yet there plenty of   
psychosomatic illnesses listed in the textbooks, and he had said his   
family used to take the ferry on a regular basis. He had saved a   
woman's life, yet didn't understand the consequent increased strength   
of her attraction to him. God, he could be the most obtuse man. . . 

Scully pushed through a bank of rhododendrons and stepped onto   
the road next to Bill Mulder's house. Once inside she happily shed   
her coat and gloves, followed Mulder into the kitchen.

He scrounged through the shelves, pulled out two small boxes.   
"Do you want Tetley's or some herbal crap called Red Zinger?" 

"Whichever one has the least amount of caffeine," she said,   
sitting down at the small breakfast table next to the back door. She   
studied him as he gathered two cups, found a jar of honey, put water   
on the boil, puttered around looking for snacks. 

Mulder was the most curious mix of the stereotypical and the   
domestic male. On the one hand, so to speak, was his video   
collection, for which he was mostly unapologetic, although he'd long   
since stopped trying to shock her with it, and on the other he was   
this gentle creature who cared for people, saved their lives, yet   
never gave it a second thought. Of course, he was also infuriatingly   
obstinate and unstintingly loyal, even to Diana. Arrogant, but   
justifiably so. Passionate about his beliefs.

There was that last incident, yet another occasion where he'd   
hared off by himself, ending up in the hospital with a crazy tale   
starring everyone but the Gunmen. Oh, and apparently she had saved   
the world.

That part she liked.

He was her friend, although oddly enough, not her confidante. 

Perhaps that was the reason she couldn't be open with him –   
they already shared so much and she needed private time in her own   
head. None of the other men she had da - become close to – had given   
her space. Or maybe she had been too scared of their disapproval to   
seek it on her own. Daniel had been a shining beacon in her life,   
always the promise of eventual conjugal freedom whispered in her ear,   
until the day he had accused her of being just like his wife. He had   
fallen swiftly in her estimation thereafter. Jack had felt the lack   
of control at work so keenly he'd sought to control his life even   
more, and by default hers as well. As for Ethan, well, he had never   
understood why she couldn't be a deskbound FBI agent, even worse, why   
she hadn't screamed and yelled to be reassigned to Quantico. His   
insecurity in general, and in particular his jealousy of her   
burgeoning relationship with Mulder had been one of many straws to   
break that proverbial camel's back.

And what about Mulder? He was so complete, so unto himself,   
seemingly so carefree. What did he ask of her that she didn't ask of   
herself?

"You’re going to wear your eyes out if you don't stop staring   
at me, Scully."

She immediately glanced away, examined the scuff marks on the   
wide boards of the floor. "Sorry."

The furnace thumped on, blowing lukewarm air through the vents,   
the only sound besides the gurgle of hot water as Mulder poured hot   
water into the mugs. He brought them over to the table, went back to   
the counter for a spoon. "Something on your mind?"

"It's a stupid question," she said, wrapping her cold hands   
around the mug. 

He tsked. "There are no stupid questions – "

" – just stupid answers," she finished along with him. She   
delayed a moment further, stirring honey into her tea and removing   
the bag even though it really needed to steep longer. "It's almost   
the holiday season." 

He added two lumps of sugar to his own cup from the bowl on the   
table, then snagged the spoon to stir it with. "And?"

"I've been thinking about home. What it means."

"Well, it's generally considered to be a four letter word   
indicating the place where one lives."

She quirked an eyebrow. "You know what I mean."

Mulder smiled, motioned for her to continue. 

"Do you consider the Vineyard home?"

He blew on his tea. "In as much as any other place I've lived,   
yes. I'm both repelled and drawn here, to the familiar and the   
unknown, to where the weight of history is heaviest."

"I don't have anything like that," she said, finally connecting   
the dots in her own head. "It's what I wanted, growing up, what I   
meant earlier when I said I wanted to belong to someplace."

"To be claimed," he answered. 

"Mm. Until tonight I'd never seen the disadvantages."

"Ah."

"Mulder – " Scully paused, trying to think of the most polite   
way to ask her question.

"How do I deal with people like the Millhouses?"

She nodded, sipped her tea. Too weak, too sweet, otherwise   
nicely vitamin C-y.

"You learn to ignore the subtext. For the most part it works.   
And here, it gives them less ammunition, although as you heard   
tonight, everything I do has the potential to be turned into a   
weapon."

At J. Edgar she had considered him paranoid and defensive from   
their first case onwards, but over time had come to recognize most of   
his reasons for being so. Now she understood where it had   
originated, and sympathized. Doubtless she would have reacted the   
same way.

"You do the same thing, Scully."

"I do not," she declared.

Mulder eyed her over the rim of his cup as he leaned back in   
his chair. "I'll concede you were more open when we first met, yet I   
know just as little and as much about your family background as you   
know about mine." 

"There's nothing to tell. We moved around a lot. It was   
difficult. What else do you want to know?" 

"That's up to you."

Scully gritted her teeth and stood up. She poured the   
remainder of her tea down the sink. "I'm going to bed."

"Scully – "

Upstairs, she changed into satin pyjamas the dusky purple of a   
concorde grape, slipped on her robe. Damn the man, how did he manage   
to turn everything around with such ease? She removed her earrings,   
losing the back of one when it skittered over the side of the bureau.   
Cursing under her breath, she got on hands and knees to see where it   
had gone. He could pinpoint the exact spot of her discomfort, and   
then increase the pressure without thought to how she might feel.   
And what was this nonsense about her never telling him anything? 

Hadn't she needed him in San Diego?   
Hadn't he spent time with her mother during her abduction?   
Didn't he know she was as open as she could be?  
The post was nowhere to be found. She got to her feet and   
plopped down on the double bed, listlessly flipped through Daughter   
of Fortune. Not what she wanted to read. She wanted something light   
and inconsequential, like a women's magazine or those books Charlie   
used to call graphic novels, but were in actuality nothing more than   
expensive comics. With a groan she rubbed her face, hung up her   
clothing to air out, packed away her dirty underwear and socks.   
Toiletries in hand, she headed towards the bathroom only to meet   
Mulder as he stepped out of his room. He carried his own toothbrush   
and toothpaste tube. 

Scully stopped, flipped a hand towards the bathroom.

"You first," he said.

Lips pursed, she slid by him, noted his quiet steps behind her,   
and didn't bother to close the door. From the corner of her eye she   
saw him fold his arms and lean against the jamb. With the firm   
intention of ignoring him, she brushed her teeth and washed her face,   
patting her skin dry with a musty smelling hand towel. When next she   
looked into the mirror, he was looking back. She unclipped her hair   
and grabbed her brush, and on a sudden whim, offered it to him   
instead with a faint smile of apology.

To her surprise, he took it. Not since her cancer had anyone   
brushed her hair besides herself. Back then it had been her mother   
or a nurse, Tara, the two times she had come to visit with Bill and   
Matty. 

Mulder turned out to be an experienced brusher of hair. He   
gathered her hair in one hand and began at the very ends, gradually   
moving until he was working the brush from the bottom of her skull up   
and out. She closed her eyes and basked in his gentle touch. He   
moved to the crown of her head, stroking and untangling far past the   
point it needed to be done. 

Finally his hands were still, fingers warm where they touched   
her bare neck and satin-clad shoulder. She gazed at his reflection,   
said softly, "You're my best friend."

Something flickered in his eyes, and then he was gone, having   
laid the brush on edge of the sink. With a sigh, she closed the   
door, peed, and returned to her room to read.

Later, it was the third creak which roused her from half-lucid,   
half-dreaming state she was in. Raising her head off the pillow, she   
listened intently, called out, "Mulder?"

The door opened and he poked his head in the room. "Sorry.   
Didn't mean to wake you."

"'S all right," she murmured, jacking herself up on one elbow.   
"You okay?"

"Couldn't sleep."

"Mm, I know. I think there must have been caffeine in that tea   
after all, I haven't really slept myself," she knuckled her eye and   
yawned. "Come talk to me."

After a moment he came in, a pale wraith in grey sleeping pants   
and a short-sleeved tee shirt, gingerly sat on the bed. He turned   
towards her briefly, then found something interesting underneath his   
fingernails. "Have you ever gone back to any of the places you lived   
as a kid?"

Scully yawned again, laid back down. "Only where Bill's been   
stationed. It's all the same, really. Base housing is pretty drab,   
or at least it was when I was growing up. Dad only started buying   
property after we had all left."

"Maybe he didn't want you wrecking the place."

She chuckled at his wry tone. "We would never have been so   
bold. I think we were all more scared of what Mom would do rather   
than Dad. She made us play outside a lot."

"Same here."

A comfortable silence fell. Scully rolled onto her back and   
lifted the window curtain, glimpsed a bright star before it faded   
underneath smoky clouds. "No snow as of yet."

"Nope. Despite all the sturm and drang, I don't believe we'll   
be getting any bad weather tonight."

"So," she said, turning back onto her side. "What kept you up?"

Mulder shrugged. "Oh, y'know, the usual. Global conspiracy,   
alien invasion, Penthouse Reader's Letters."

She snorted, noticed goosebumps on his forearms. Reaching out,   
she touched him gently. "God, you're freezing!"

"I'm fine. Hardy New England stock and all that."

"C'mere," she said, drawing the blankets back and patting the   
mattress. She didn't often allow herself the pleasure of his company   
without work as a buffer.

He went very still. 

She didn't give herself the chance to rescind the offer. "Fish   
or cut bait, Mulder."

A second passed, and then another before his head hit the   
pillow, feet swinging up beneath the blankets, his back still towards   
her. She tossed the covers over him, took a deep breath, and   
snuggled closer.

"Jesus, Scully, you just wanted to steal my heat."

"Mm hmm," She hadn't realized how cold she actually was even   
though there were two wool blankets beneath the heavy quilt. This   
was the life. It was nighttime, she was in bed, she was getting   
warmer, and Mulder was literally by her side. Perfect. She was on   
the verge of falling asleep when he spoke again.

"So, good looking?"

She had to think for a long moment before she remembered her   
earlier comment. "Yup."

He reached back and squeezed her lower thigh. "It's good to   
know I haven't lost my charm."

"Go to sleep, Mulder."

It was the dark odor of freshly brewed coffee which finally   
woke Scully up from an odd dream involving Missy, Skinner, and a   
bicycle. She felt good, though, refreshed and ready for the new day.

Even if it was only six thirty in the morning.

Foregoing a shower in lieu of the two baths she'd had the day   
before, she dressed, repacked, and went downstairs in search of   
breakfast. Unfortunately there wasn't too much in the way of food in   
the cupboards now that the season was over, so she settled for   
coffee, some chewy apple rings and a couple of almond biscotti spread   
with peanut butter. Not the best meal she'd ever had, but far from   
the worst.

Assuming Mulder was out for a run, she grabbed another cup of   
coffee and sat in the kitchen, reading Eucalyptus as the day steadily   
brightened. She was some thirty pages in when the front door opened   
and closed just short of a slam. 

"Morning," she muttered as he stalked into the kitchen, drank a   
glass of water, then stalked out and up the stairs without so much as   
a 'hey'. Okay. He was having one his black days. It wasn't   
surprising, considering all he'd had to deal with the day before. She   
returned to her book, quietly aware of every sound in the house. 

The thud of something hitting a wall and then the floor,   
probably shoes being tossed aside. The rush of water when the toilet   
was flushed. Pipes banging as the shower went on. The faint creak   
of the floorboards outside of her room, more squeals as Mulder came   
down the hallway, returning to the kitchen. He poured the last of   
the coffee into a cup and stood at the counter, arms folded   
defensively.

Scully put the cream and black Beckett's bookmark in to hold   
her place, and waited expectantly. After awhile she said, "Long   
run."

He stared out the window above the sink, stonefaced. She   
followed his gaze but found nothing apart from a few ravens in the   
back yard, standing around looking like they knew the secret of the   
universe.

"No snow," he finally said. "When I was little there was always   
snow by this time of the year. I used to go out and pick cranberries   
wherever I could find a bog or a bush, leave trails for the birds and   
the squirrels. Did you know that squirrels don't hibernate? They   
have to come out and search for food, make their way to their summer   
caches, or else they starve to death."

"Or get eaten," she ventured.

"Or get eaten."

If he wanted her to know, he'd tell her when he wanted to, and   
not a moment before. Still, she was bothered.

"The ferry leaves at nine – " he nodded at her frown. "I know   
you wanted to fly out, but they're booked solid. I've already   
returned the car, so we'll taxi to Vineyard Haven and take the other   
ferry to Woods Hole. It's a faster trip, and we can take the bus   
directly to Logan."

"Are you all right?"

"I've got to get my things together, Scully,"


	6. Epilogue

The seas had calmed, but were still rough enough to make Mulder  
quiet. Scully lost interest in her book at the bus station –  
conveniently part of Dunkin' Donuts – and decided to people watch  
instead. Unfortunately, besides students who had obviously spent the  
better part of Saturday night partying hard, there weren't all that  
many people about. The store looked like every other Dunkin' Donuts  
she had ever been in, with the same humdrum pink, tan, and white  
interior, cracks in the linoleum floor, greasy corners, smelling of  
coffee and sausages and sugar. Surprisingly enough, country rather  
than pop rock wailed through the speakers in the tiled ceiling. 

On the hard burnt orange plastic seat next to her, Mulder  
fidgeted, slowly demolishing his empty coffee cup. 

Her stomach rumbled, and she told herself that donut holes were  
a perfectly acceptable snack if she didn't eat too many. With this  
in mind she bought a dozen, figuring Mulder would polish off whatever  
she didn't finish.

He was standing in front of the window, hands on his hips,  
apparently contemplating the plethora of Saabs and Jetta's in the  
parking lot when she returned. She offered him the bag, but he shook  
his head. She reached in and grabbed a chocolate hole, started  
nibbling. Should've gotten more coffee to wash it down with, but  
she'd already had two this morning.

"Scully?"

"Hmm?" She looked up at his uncertain tone. 

"What did you think of my father's house?"

She chewed and swallowed, snagged another hole, this one  
coconut covered. The house was big, good for a family with children.  
It got lots of light, and was pleasantly decorated in a clean  
masculine style, much like Mulder's own apartment. It had a goodly  
sized kitchen, plenty of back yard, neighbors not too close, but not  
too far away, either. Private, yet not secluded. "I liked it."

"Did you?" 

"Why do you ask?"

"Could you see yourself living there?"

 

She ate the rest of the hole, wavered about saving the rest for  
later. Well, one more couldn't hurt, right? "Is that a proposal?"

"Just answer the question, Scully," he chided. 

"I guess," Although uncomfortable, she refused to squirm. His  
peripheral vision would pick up, and he'd give her that look, the one  
which said he knew exactly what she was thinking.

"Good," Mulder sat down again, a bright smile playing on his  
lips. "Good. Any of those for me?"

She mutely handed him the bag.

"Too bad these don't come jelly-filled."

"Your ties would never survive," she muttered, glad his  
mercurial mood seemed to have passed.

"Don't deny it, I know you secretly love my ties."

The sad thing was, she did. 

"Hey, there's our bus. Time to go home."

Scully dutifully followed him to the dock and onto the bus,  
slipped into the window seat so he could stretch his legs in the  
aisle. 

There it was again, home.

Perhaps she was defining the word too narrowly. Perhaps home  
really was the heart and not any particular physical location. And  
if that was the case, then she was like a hermit crab, carrying her  
shell with her wherever she went. And Mulder had moved in at some  
point, which made it damned crowded at times, although she did have  
the occasional sojourn in his shell, too. All protestations to the  
side, she didn't want it any other way, not any more. So she didn't  
need what society had deemed as appropriate for a woman of her age.  
Sure, she had an apartment, but more often than not it was simply the  
place where she slept and did laundry, the base from which she  
launched herself at the evil in the world, not a nest to be feathered  
and padded and guarded over. To hell with society, home was wherever  
and whatever she decided it would be. She chuckled silently at  
herself, nodded at Mulder's questioning look.

"Yeah," she murmured. "Let's go home."

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~fin~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Notes: After reading a few fics in which our heroes drag   
> themselves to high school and med school reunions, I wanted to do one   
> of my own, but without making it a Reunion reunion, if you know what   
> I mean. I always thought CC did a good job in choosing the Vineyard   
> as Mulder's birthplace – it suits him in a very particular way. I'm   
> beginning to think that maybe Scully needs to meet folks from her   
> past, too. Only the Muses know for sure.
> 
> The title of this series comes from the poem "The Man From Athabaska"   
> by Robert "The Cremation of Sam McGee" Service.
> 
> http://www.bigdig.com - info about the Big Dig
> 
> The Hyline actually only runs from Hyannis to Oak Bluffs May through   
> October. The year round ferries are from Woods Hole and New London,   
> CT, but what the heck, it's been a long time since I've been in   
> either town and I can't remember what they look like.
> 
> Eucalyptus – Murray Bail, fantastic story, fabulously written. 
> 
> P-town – Provincetown, on the toe of Cape Cod

**Author's Note:**

>  _Country of the Crepescule:_  
>  Local Boy  
> Mother's Milk  
> Scene from a Road Trip  
> Catch a Falling Star  
> Do You Like Our Owl? 
> 
> Feedback: Be brutal. You know you want to.


End file.
